


Let the Silver Voices Guide You

by anisstaranise



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Childhood Friends, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Goodbyes, M/M, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise/pseuds/anisstaranise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the path, a willow tree sat majestically between his family’s estate and the neighbouring family’s; the Smythes. And there below the willow tree, a Smythe stood waiting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the Silver Voices Guide You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **Seblaine Spring Fling**. Day 2: Prompt Day (Quote)  
>  _At night I dream that you and I are two plants that grew together, roots entwined. ― Pablo Neruda_
> 
> Inspired by scenes from **Forrest Gump** and **Marvel’s Agent Carter**.
> 
> Title from **Phillip LaRue ******’s _“On The Other Side”_.

At night I dream that you and I are two plants that grew together, roots entwined.

― Pablo Neruda

.

The late morning sun shone down on the Anderson estate as the breeze blew across the field. The blades of grass swayed in the wind, creating the illusion of a bow as he walked by.

He had treaded this path a million times over. It led to a place that made him the happiest; it led to a piece of home. Yet, today, every step he took was reluctant, dreaded. But he walked on anyway; that was the way it was with home- no matter the reservation, he would still gravitate towards it.

At the end of the path, a willow tree sat majestically between his family’s estate and the neighbouring family’s; the Smythes. And there below the willow tree, a Smythe stood waiting for him.

Sebastian Smythe, his piece of home.

The willow tree served as their meeting place ever since they were children, rooted fast in their lives- a witness to their milestones of running around the estate, climbing trees and skinning knees. It was under the willow tree that they first realized they were _different_ \- how they were drawn to boys more than they were to girls.

As years passed, their feelings for each other took root in their hearts, snaking together to bind them. The tree beheld their first _I love you_ , their first kiss, their promise of forevers. And now, it was about to behold a parting; Sebastian was leaving.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Sebastian said with a smirk on his lips. That was his Sebastian, always trying to pass as coy, nonchalant, but there were traces of nerves at the edge of his voice along with the hint of relief now that they were standing face to face.

His eyes regarded the man he loved, standing before him decked in his U.S Army battle dress uniform, its olive green matching the emerald gleam of his eyes. Sebastian was leaving later that day, all the way to Vietnam to fight a senseless war.

Sometimes he wondered how the two of them fell in love in the first place; he was an advocate of peace, openly protesting any and all types of warfare while Sebastian was raised with a soldier’s mindset; the third generation Smythe to enlist in the army. He supposed there was truth in the saying _love is blind_.

Growing up with a high ranking Army officer for a father, Sebastian would often move from one state to another with his family.  The Army brat, Sebastian had said, always the new kid in school.

They would write each other letters to fill the distance between them. They wrote almost every day for years. He saved each and every one of Sebastian’s letters, kept tidily and arranged chronologically in a Danish cookie tin that sat atop of his bookcase.

 But no matter where the Smythes moved to or how long they were gone, they always came back to the estate. _Sebastian_ always came back. He liked to think that _he_ was Sebastian’s piece of home and that Sebastian always gravitated towards _him_.

If it were any other day, he would have run right into Sebastian’s arms, to give into the gravitational pull of home. But the sight of Sebastian’s army fatigue made him stop. The war went against everything he stood for, his peace-loving principles. And he hated that tomorrow, Sebastian would be an ocean away, right in the center of a war he opposed.

Just when he thought he couldn’t despise the war any more, it called for the services of Sebastian Smythe.

Sebastian; soldier, hero.

His stance on the war aside, Sebastian was _his_ hero; the kind hearted man who friends and family could always count on, the one who would go the extra mile to lend a hand, even for strangers.

“You didn’t think I’d let you leave without saying goodbye, did you?” he said, looking up at the swaying strands of the willow tree. He couldn’t look at Sebastian when the green army garment acted as a neon sign, constantly screaming _He’s leaving, he’s leaving_. It was too painful. But even then, looking up at the willow tree became too painful; the swaying strands looked as though they were waving goodbye.

Sebastian quickly closed the distance between them, cupping his face and gently lifting it so all he could see was Sebastian; no army uniforms to set the bitterness of a departure, no willow leaves bidding adieu- just Sebastian, only Sebastian.

The breeze whistled around them as they stood there, wordless. For a moment he considered pleading with Sebastian- _Don’t go, stay here, with me_. But he loved Sebastian with all his heart. That meant he couldn’t, wouldn’t deny Sebastian’s sense of duty- even if it broke his heart. Sebastian was a soldier; to ask anything less of him meant that he wouldn’t be the Sebastian he fell in love with.

“ _Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you_...”

He smiled. Trust Sebastian to word his farewell in a song.

“... _tomorrow I’ll miss you_ -”

Sebastian pressed him close, chest to chest. Sebastian’s breath tickled his ear. Instinctively, he buried his face in the nook of Sebastian’s neck and inhaled the scent he so loved; mint, sandalwood, _Sebastian_.

“- _remember I’ll always be true_.”

“Sebastian-”

“ _And then while I’m away- I’ll write home everyday_ -”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. He shouldn’t be laughing- not when-

He stopped the thought before it materialized in his mind. He shook the notion away and instead, he let Sebastian’s voice singing their song wash over him.

“ _And I’ll send all my lovin’ to you_.”

He reluctantly peeled himself away from Sebastian’s skin, his safe place, and looked up into the face of the love of his life; to part from him was excruciating.

“I love you,” was all he said before tiptoeing to press his lips against Sebastian’s.

Sebastian reciprocated earnestly, deepening the kiss with every glide of their lips. They never hid their feelings when they were under the willow tree. Two men in love weren’t generally accepted but their families knew. They didn’t care; all they cared for was that he and Sebastian were happy. However, the Smythe patriarch did his utmost to pretend he didn’t know, that ignorance was bliss while his own father chose to attribute his ‘phase’ to the rebellious acts of his _flower power_ generation, upholding the _make love, not war_ ideology.

But what they had, under the willow tree and beyond- it was real. His heart beat for Sebastian and it was full of love for this soldier kissing him as though tomorrow would never come.

“You come back to me,” he said rather breathlessly when he broke the kiss.

“I’m not really leaving, you know?” Sebastian quipped with his gorgeous smile, laying a hand over his heart. “You’re my home.”

 _It’s not the same_ , he wanted to say. They would always be a part of each other but he needed Sebastian in every sense of the word; emotionally, physically. But he let the wind carry the words away.

“And you are my home,” he reciprocated and claimed Sebastian’s lips again.

Lost in the moment of their synced lips and heartbeats, he felt happy. But a nagging feeling crept up at the back of his mind. He shouldn’t be happy- not when-

... _not when there was a chance Sebastian might not come back_ ; the thought escaped him before he could halt it. He choked a sob against Sebastian’s lips, his heart breaking all over again.

“ _And I’ll send all my lovin’ to you_ ,” Sebastian sang again, punctuating the words with pecks to his lips, fingers twirling along his loose curls.

He smiled. Despite his fears and broken heart, how could he not be happy in Sebastian’s arms? They still had now, a fixed point in time guarded by the willow tree. _Be brave, for Sebastian_ , he vowed.

They spent Sebastian’s remaining moments in each other’s arms, stealing kisses every now and then, whispering words of affection, of assurances.

A jeep trudged up the main road that both the Anderson and the Smythe estates shared, the rumbling engine stealing their attention. He watched as the vehicle veered left at the fork in the road, dust trailing behind it before pulling up in front of the Sebastian’s family home.

“That’s my ride,” Sebastian breathed, slowly letting him go.

He regarded the waiting jeep that would take Sebastian away. _Be brave_ , he reminded. _Be Sebastian’s hero_.

“You come back to me,” he said again, all other sentiments packed in those five words; a plea, a request, a prayer.

Sebastian smiled, neither promising to do so nor denying him the comfort of a pact. But he knew, despite his duties with the army, Sebastian would always come back. Or at least he would try. A soldier’s honour, _Sebastian’s_ honour.

A stronger breeze gusted between the willow leaves, the strands waving goodbye in earnest now. It was time for Sebastian to go. He needed to tell Sebastian he wasn’t angry at him for leaving (the way he had been the day Sebastian received his letter and the many days that followed). He needed Sebastian to know he loved him; the man, the soldier- every part of him.

A kiss wouldn’t be enough, it wouldn’t encompass all he needed Sebastian to know.

So, he did the only thing he could think of:

He stepped back from Sebastian, stood at attention the best way he knew how and raised his hand to his head in salute.

He stayed that way for a long moment, saluting Sebastian.

Sebastian laughed but he didn’t miss the adoration in those green eyes. There beneath the willow tree, everything he had wanted to say, he knew Sebastian heard them all- loud and clear.

The willow leaves rustled above them as Sebastian crisply brought his feet together, standing at attention and sprang a salute in return.

\---

A week after Sebastian left, the first letter arrived.

The enveloped bulged. When he opened it, it was full of scraps of paper. The contents were more of written thoughts than a letter.

On a jaggedly torn yellow notepad sheet, Sebastian wrote:

_B,_

_It’s raining here (it rains here a lot) and it smells just like home, the way it does when it pours after we’ve mowed the lawn._

_Sending all my love,  
S_.

On another, this time a torn corner of a newspaper, it said:

                _B,_

_You’d like the food here. You’ve always had a better taste for the exotic than I do. I remain a man who’d pick a good ol’ American cheeseburger, fries and milkshake any day._

_And I remain your man_. – _S_.

He would spend his days reading Sebastian’s letters over and over and he would arrange them according to the dates scrawled on the edges. That way, he could close his eyes and imagine Sebastian’s day to day just as it had been; it might sound strange but it did help him feel closer to his boyfriend.

He often wrote back, documenting his own daily thoughts down whenever and wherever he could.

                _Bas-_

_Organized a rally today- a peaceful protest against the war. This is my fight, so that I could end it all and bring you home. –Yours_

It was all he could do not to fall apart in Sebastian’s absence, when a piece of home was so far out of reach.

So, he wrote, and wrote- the words bridging their hearts between the oceans and the continents.

\---

The letters became sporadic over the months that followed. He never held it against Sebastian; the man was fighting a war after all.

One Thursday, a letter arrived with a single sheet of paper. The only words on it were:

                _My Heart,_

 _I miss you. I miss everything about you. –S_.

Weeks passed before another letter arrived.

                _My Dearest Love,_

_I love you with all that I am, Blaine Anderson. Never forget that.  
With so much love I could very well burst with happiness- and ever yours. –S._

\---

After a while, the letters stopped coming.

\---

Blaine never stopped writing.

\---

Sunday brunch was a tradition in the Anderson household, the one day he didn’t miss Sebastian too much. It was hard to when his brother Cooper’s children were running around the house, filling every nook and cranny with joy and laughter.

He smiled to himself as he stacked the dishes in the sink, watching his father put a wedge of orange peel in his mouth pretending to be some sort of monster and chased the next generation of Andersons into the parlour.

He chuckled at the sight, sighing happily.

 _If only Sebastian were here_ , he thought as he gazed out the kitchen window, his hazel eyes falling first on the willow tree. He scanned the beautiful span of the estate before his sights landed on the majestic structure of the Smythe’s French colonial house. He knew every slender wooden column that supported the home, every slant of cedar siding on the exterior walls. It was his home just as much as it was Sebastian’s- the way the Andersons’ was to Sebastian.

By the back garden, he saw Sebastian’s mother, decked in her Sunday best, wrestling a sheet of linen onto the clothesline; the wind wasn’t doing the poor woman any favours.

At the sight of her, something sharp caught in between his breastbone- a pang, an ache; the distraction his nieces and nephews brought disappeared as the painful feeling of missing Sebastian returned tenfold. He despaired imagining how Mrs. Smythe must feel in the absence of her only son.

A gust of wind swept through the estate, moving the clouds to block out the sun, chasing away the rays that brightened the day. Mrs. Smythe’s linen flapped wildly in the wind, the pegs popping off the clothesline at its intensity. He decided to abandon the dirty dishes for little while to go and help out Mrs. Smythe with her washing.

But before he could move, he caught sight of a black jeep driving up the main road between the estates- the same kind of jeep that came to collect Sebastian all those months ago.

His eyes trailed the vehicle as it turned left to the Smythe’s half of the estate. His heart was banging hysterically against his ribs. Could it be- could Sebastian be coming home?

He watched silently from the kitchen window as two men dressed in the formal Army service uniform step out of the car and rounded the house to the back garden.

There was a pain in his hands that matched the one in his chest where his heart raced frantically; he hadn’t realized he was clutching the edge of the sink so hard that his knuckles turned white. He watched as Mrs. Smythe turned when the two officers approached her and instinctively clutched the ends of the linen to her chest.

The officers removed their service caps. Something twisted in his gut. One of them passed her an envelope.

More clouds congregated to inhibit the sunshine, bathing its overcast gray on the estates below. His lungs burned; the result of unconsciously holding his breath.

Mrs. Smythe opened the letter, her eyes scanning the piece of paper. In that moment, another gust of wind blew across the estates. And in that moment, he watched as Mrs. Smythe buckled to her knees, the breeze carrying the most harrowing sound right through his open window;

The anguished sob of a mother.

“Sebastian-” he exhaled, expelled the breath that he had been holding as Mrs. Smythe’s cries sliced through him. “No- Sebastian.”

He felt his own knees buckle under the weight of the news. He didn’t need to read the letter clenched tightly in Mrs. Smythe’s fist. He could hear the words clearly as though the wind lugged it straight at him:

_Gen. and Mrs. Carwood Smythe,_

_The Secretary of the Army has asked me to express his deep regret that your son, Private First Class Sebastian Smythe, died in Vietnam..._

“Sebastian.” He choked around the name. The name of his beloved.

Fallen. Lost.

He stumbled forward and crashed into the kitchen island, his breathing laboured. There was a ringing in his ear, his mind too numb to process the chaos of a million and one thoughts rattling in his head.

He clutched his stomach as though he could grab the pain rampaging through his body and yank it out, to make it stop. Slumping onto the kitchen floor, he sat there with his bleeding heart.

 “Sebastian-” he sobbed, struggling around the air which wouldn’t seem to reach his lungs.

_Private First Class Sebastian Smythe, died in Vietnam._

In choked desolation, he let the words wash over him as the pain of it eroded the walls of his veins, his muscles, his skin. There was a tremble in his bones; every fear, every anguish of living in a world void of Sebastian pooling within- an ever-growing pain that was rising and rising and rising...

And then-

Something inside him splintered, shattered;

His heart.

In that moment, a sound reverberate in the spaces around him; a wail heavy with sorrow and grief. A heartbeat passed before he realized that he was the source of such an ugly sound.

He wailed for a lover lost, a hero fallen. Sebastian was finally coming home- but not in the way he had envisioned, not in the way that he wanted.

And so he wailed.

And he wailed.

And he wailed.

\---

The sun shone through the slender branches of the willow tree, the draping leaves screen the rays like a bright green curtain. It was a windless day; everything stood still- the blades of grass, the willow strands- unmoving, at attention, as though they too were mourning Sebastian and were paying their respects.

The Smythes had opted for a private burial; they couldn’t bear to part with their only son- their only child. So, they had chosen to bury Sebastian on the estate- under the willow tree.

The funeral service had been beautiful- fitting for a hero who had risked his life to save the children of a Vietnamese village from being caught in the line of fire.

 While the other mourners, including his parents, had headed to the Smythes to pay their last respects, he remained by Sebastian’s headstone, desperate for some time alone. In one hand, the metal of Sebastian’s dog tags burned his skin. “He’d want you to have this,” Mrs. Smythe had said as she pressed the tags into his palm. “He loved you so much. I hope you know that.”

He blinked away the tears at the memory. _Loved_ , past tense; Sebastian was not here to love him anymore.

In the other hand, he held a bundle of letters- his letters to Sebastian- unopened, with an angry red stamp of Return of Sender over the face of the envelope. Slowly, he crouched down to place the bundle by the headstone. In those pages were words, promises Sebastian never had the chance to read. They held promises of plans for the future that would never come to be- days that should have been but never would. Perhaps leaving them by the grave, those words and promises would reach Sebastian somehow. He knew, logically, it was foolish thinking but he didn’t care. He needed to _believe_ that it would. He needed _something_ to believe in; everyone dealt with loss and grief in their own way.

He felt a tear roll down his cheek and onto the ground. He imagined it would seep through the earth where the roots of the willow tree would absorb it, imbed into the bark or the leaves. Perhaps that way a part of him would always be a part of the tree and he could always watch over Sebastian.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” he whispered.

He doesn’t say goodbye; there was no goodbye when it came to home. Dead or alive, Sebastian would always be his home; a home he would carry for the rest of his days.

And for as long as the willow tree stood, the history of _Sebastian and Blaine_ would remain. Their lives would always be entwined and anchored to one another, the way the roots were entwined, anchoring the tree to the ground.

\---END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Comments welcomed.
> 
> I did a historical research as best as I could. Any discrepancies on the Army uniform and/or the war are shortcomings on my part.


End file.
